


Crestfallen

by Houseofmalfoy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Album: evermore (Taylor Swift), F/M, Inspired by Taylor Swift, Marriage Proposal, Rejected Marriage Proposal, Song: champagne problems (Taylor Swift), Unhappy Ending, basically it's heartbreak and me giving minor characters painful backstories, enjoy, that is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:54:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28465635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Houseofmalfoy/pseuds/Houseofmalfoy
Summary: Because I dropped your hand while dancingLeft you out there standingCrestfallen on the landingChampagne problems
Relationships: Rabastan Lestrange/Narcissa Black Malfoy
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4
Collections: RAREHPBINGO, folklore evermore





	Crestfallen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stonecoldhedwig](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stonecoldhedwig/gifts).



> This oneshot assumes the background of these characters I've used in others fics, namely that Narcissa and the Lestrange brothers have grown up as good friends, with plans for Narcissa to marry Rabastan whom she's deeply in love with, until the death of their parents thwarts those plans. Also written for the Rare HP Bingo for my prompt 'Rabastan'
> 
> Enjoy!

_Your mom's ring in your pocket_  
_My picture in your wallet_  
_Your heart was glass, I dropped it_  
_Champagne problems_

oOo

Narcissa had been dreaming of marrying Rabastan Lestrange from the very day she had realised she could. 

They had been friends for as long as they could both remember, having been introduced to one another at the mere age of five; she, Bastan, and his older twin brother Rodolphus, had always been inseparable. His parents were like a second family to Narcissa, his home as much hers as it was the Lestranges’, and to marry one of the brothers had only been the logical next step to solidify that bond. 

Regardless of her dreams, regardless of their history, and regardless of the fact that she so desperately wished she could, Narcissa had no positive answer to give when her dearest friend and lover sank to his knee before her.

Rabastan had a speech that she knew he had practised many times before she’d ever heard it. He had only ever been good with words when he was writing them; she and Rodolphus had so often teased him with it. Narcissa wished she’d heard the whole thing, for she knew it’d have been beautiful, but she had interrupted him too soon. 

Their evening had started out so nicely, she thought. They’d had wine in the drawing room of Lestrange Manor where they used to play as children, where they’d sneak kisses when his parents had gone to bed, and where Narcissa had shared so many memories with Rabastan and his family. 

She and Rabastan had talked about those and more recollections of the past. They spoke of them with fondness and the bittersweet edge that accompanies memories of loved ones that death had taken too soon. Narcissa couldn’t quite believe it’d been a year since his parents had been murdered, couldn’t quite believe how drastically everything had changed since then. 

It seemed she was the only one to understand just how much their futures were to be shaped by the loss of Raoul and Adrastia Lestrange. Rabastan, for all the goodness and intelligence she knew hid behind his eyes, had made it cruelly clear that he had no idea. 

The good name of the Lestrange family had been good due to his parents and their extraordinary capabilities to wield both kindness and pureblood etiquette perfectly. Bastan and his brother were pure, bright, and wealthy, but they were every bit as impulsive, naive, and young, and in their grief had made waste of the good reputation their parents had left them. 

As much as it hurt her to acknowledge it — more so upon the realisation that Rabastan had not come to the blatantly obvious conclusion himself — it simply would not do for Narcissa to marry into the family after what had become of it. Her mother was furious enough that they’d let Bella make that mistake before realising the state of the brothers Lestrange. 

The champagne he’d brought was delicious, but a feeling of dread had washed over Narcissa the moment he’d opened the bottle. Veela champagne was a favourite of both Rabastan and his brother, she knew that just as she knew that this particular year was expensive even for their luxurious tastes. 

She knew enough about his family to have heard the story of Raoul’s proposal to Adrastia, here in this same drawing-room, accompanied by a similar bottle of champagne whose stains had never been washed out of Adrastia’s dress robes. Narcissa wondered if perhaps she ought to have stopped Bastan the moment she’d suspected what he was about to do. 

She wondered if it would have hurt less; wondered if she had been selfish to allow Rabastan to begin his proposal at all; Narcissa wondered if perhaps she had known all along where tonight would lead, and it had only been out of self-interest that she had allowed him to begin at all. 

It was too late to question her motives now. 

“You are so beautiful, you know that?” Bastan had begun, and the tone of his voice had been so filled with admiration that it had made Narcissa feel like both the most beautiful and the cruellest witch alive for letting him speak to her that way. 

He’d brought up his parents and how delighted he knew they’d have been about this marriage. It only made Narcissa feel like more of a horrible person for doing what she was about to do. If Raoul and Adrastia had been alive, it all would have been so different. It would have been so much easier, and so much better, and it ached in her chest to long for such a time so badly. 

The ring in his hand was Adrastia’s, and a wave of nausea hit her when she recognised it. How many times had Narcissa not admired that beautiful diamond engagement ring, how many years had she not spent praying for the day it would be  _ hers  _ to wear with pride? 

It was beautiful as ever, glittering in the dim light of the fireplace, and the little girl within Narcissa’s heart wanted nothing but to let Rabastan slip it on her finger so that it would be hers forever. She’d wanted it from the day she’d been old enough to want, had dreamt for so long of wearing the ring that would tie her to the Lestrange family for the rest of her life. 

Narcissa felt tears spring into her eyes at the realisation that she could not. 

“Stop,” she brought out, her voice a strained whisper trying to hold back the tears and nausea that were threatening to destroy her composure. “Stop it, Bastan, please.”

There was only a moment of confusion on Rabastan’s face before a horrifically pained understanding filled his expression, and that hurt her more than anything in the world. “Cissa, just let me-”

“Don’t.”

There was a moment where neither of them spoke, a moment during which everything that had ever been and everything that Narcissa already knew would still be felt like it was going to overflow from her head and her heart; spill out between the cracks in her so carefully composed exterior until she’d lost all she once had with Rabastan. 

She wanted  _ Rabastan Lestrange _ . The boy she’d known as a child; the boy who’d been her first kiss and her first everything; the young man without whom she would be nowhere near the witch she was today. 

Narcissa wanted his innocent way of smiling, his blonde hair and bright blue eyes that were so much like his mother’s that it hurt to look at them since the funeral; she wanted his habit of journaling and his excitement over miniature quidditch and she wanted the gossip of pureblood society only Bastan and his blackmailing could get her. She wanted the future she had once dreamt of having with this beautiful wizard who she could only describe as the love of her life. 

The man whose heart she was breaking was not that boy she’d known. He hadn’t been that boy in a long time, but Narcissa didn’t think that made it any easier to tear apart what little had remained of his heart after the loss of his parents.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, instead of voicing any of her thoughts. Narcissa felt a tear fall down her cheek, caught by the extravagant but classy robes she’d chosen special for tonight. “I’m so sorry, Bastan,” she repeated, and they could both hear the crack in her voice. 

Her robes felt too tight around her chest, the air in the room to warm to be comfortable, and Rabastan’s crestfallen face too real when she put his mother’s silver ring back in the pockets of his tailed jacket. Narcissa took a step back when he stood up, interrupted whatever he was about to say by apologising a third time, and left the drawing-room as fast as her high heels would allow. 

She was quite certain he heard the sobs that forced their way out her throat the moment she’d reached the hallway. She was quite certain it was the last thing on his mind. 

Narcissa strode through the ornate halls, her vision blurred by tears. 

She left nothing but the shards of a future that was once supposed to be  _ theirs  _ behind for the boy she would never stop loving. 

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are always incredibly appreciated!


End file.
